The kettle's on
by typicalRAinbow
Summary: Can't you see you're in the wrong place, Will you please face it and come home? A oneshot Songfic, hints of BertXMary...well who else could it be?


**My first song fic woot! I was originally going to post it as a mini in one of my other stories but I thought it worked better on its own. I own nothing but the story, m'kay? Beware of spelling errors and Oocness. Reviews may help themselves to biscuits and there's ice-cream in the fridge. Oh and thanks to Laura Schilla and Cocoa987 for suggesting I should space it out more (and telling how to spell enthusiasm lol). Hope its more easy on the eyes now. **_**Lyrics are in Italics and they belong to The Feeling's song "Kettle's on" from Twelve Stops and Home album. **_**Enjoy**

_I turn on the tap and run some water  
__Flick a little switch on the wall_

As his eyes adjusted to the kitchen lights glare, Bert's hand hovered over the ring before he bent down and stoked up the copper oven a little.

Satisfied he straightened and went to the sink.

_I'm hoping you remember what I taught ya_

Don't stay away to long he'd yelled. Keep in touch, he thought she'd smiled.

_Hoping you remember me at all_

Rinsing out the only tin mug and teaspoon on the draining board, he slumped into a chair at the table.

_I'm strong but I feel like a mouse when you're gone_

Him and his rooms always felt so empty when she wasn't nearby

_I'm weak but I'll take on the world when you're here_

It didn't matter that she'd only entered the hall once, most of the time he met her on the doorstep,

_With me, with me_

Most of the time to say Au revoir.

_Can't you see you're in the wrong place  
Will you please face it and come home_

I'd love you more then half them kids will, he thought darkly. But then again he could never make her choose.

_When I think about you're sweet face  
_So sweet and perfect, he'd never been able to capture more then a silhouette of her with out feeling displeased with the results.  
He hadn't any great sketches of her, only his memories.  
_  
I can't wait for you to come home_

Just for a visit, maybe she could even spend the night at her Uncle Albert's

_I can see you got a real taste but that champaigne but its all gone_

Then again, why stick with a scruffy man who can't keep a job two days running.  
Face it Bert, he groaned, she could have her pick of any man.

_Come home,_

Not even a splash of milk and two spoonfuls of sugar would help him take that bitter medicine.

_The kettles on._

Bert didn't bother lighting a fire in the grate. He didn't bother going to bed.

_I've got a little something on my mind_

He wouldn't be able to sleep any way and the kitchen would be just as warm as his lumpy mattress.

_To keep it to myself isn't really very kind_

But he couldn't say what he meant

_Pouring out my heart isn't usually my style._

And yet if he didn't- but how was he...

_But you gave me an inch, so I'm gonna take a mile_

Keep in touch she'd smiled. Keep in touch...

With new enthusiasm , Bert grabbed one of his drawing pencils and ripped a sheet out of his sketch book.  
He addressed it 'dear' before changing it to 'my dear'

_You see, I'm strong but I feel like a mouse when you're gone  
_he had so much to say

_I'm weak but I'll take on the world when you're here  
_Would she understand what he meant?

_With me,  
_  
It probaly didn't read well and it was poorly written

_with me  
_  
Did this count as pressing his advantage?

_Can't you see you're in the wrong place  
_  
But was she? she was doing what she did best

_Will you please face it and come home_

what if she didn't feel the same

_When I think about you're sweet face_

how would she react, laugh it off or even avoid him

_I can't wait for you to come home_

the empty chair across from him seemed to be mocking him

_I can see you got a real taste but that champaigne but its all gone_

why was he writing this?

_So come home, the kettles on_

I think I love you- He wrote and chuckled sadly.  
He signed it half heartedly and searched for an envelope. Finding one he wrote her pretty name on the front. It'll need a stamp, he thought...But she had never left an address.  
Where would she be? How would he find her? He didn't a clue.

_Can't you see you're in the wrong place_

Any where but here! Why didn't she stay in London? He said out loud to no one and ripped the envelope and letter in half and in half again. Why didn't he go with her? Bert's enthusiasm faded as quickly as it'd appeared.

_Will you please face it and come home_

Maybe he should have given up years ago. Tossing the pieces in to the grate, he slunk dejectedly into the kitchen. He'd forgotten to take the kettle off the hob after he'd made his brew. He hadn't heard it screaming, nor realised how hot it would be. Not till he'd picked it up any way.

He didn't see the forgotten scraps of paper float up the small chimney, the same scraps that quickly found the east wind...

He didn't think for a moment that high above, maybe miles away, a gloved hand would reach out, red lips would smile thinking it was another assignment...

A heart perhaps would miss a beat as the ink on a paper puzzle would form her pretty name that had always been liked...

Nor would he have reckoned the scruffy handwriting be recognised long before his signature...

And a neither pair of perfect eyes, that Bert had never seen so wide or shine so bright, would begin scanning the horizon, gloved hands now shaking as they gripped her bag and now open brolly, the neutral poise crumbling…

No, Bert had ever only imagined it but reckoned it would ever happen. He never saw when it happened for real.

_When I think about you're sweet face  
__I can't wait for you to come home_

When doorbell rang, Bert had just finished cleaning up the water that he'd spilt. Probably some one asking him to sweep their chimney, He sighed. Though surely its bit late fore that?

Making sure the cold rag was still pressing firmly on his left palm, he opened the hadn't expected the world to be so bright or the evening so warm.

And he certainly hadn't been expecting her.

Bert tried to compose him self, as did she. A new nervousness seemed to have sprung between the pair of them despite knowing each other for managed a greeting, she responded

"Good evening Bert." With a smile.

"What are you doing here?"  
"Well, it seems," she answered pulling a piece of paper from her pocket, "I was invited."  
"By who-" Bert had started, before she held up the letter to him.

By feeble street light it was too dark to read, but he allreadly knew what it said:

_Can't you see you're in the wrong place  
Will you please face it and come home  
When I think about you're sweet face… _

I couldn't write it all down, Bert thought as he felt the joins between the repaired papers. I have to say it, now. Just blurt it out, scream it, whisper-

"Bert?" she asked, her voice nearly a whisper, breaking his train of thought.

He was never any good at saying what he meant. He grinned. But he had the rest of the night to explain.

"I'll go put the kettle on. Come in, Mary Poppins,"  
_I can't wait for you to come home..._


End file.
